Reading is Sexy
by Jay Nice
Summary: Dean stopped reading books after high school, but that doesn't mean he's lost his touch. Whenever Sam asks for help with English homework, he knows Dean is the one to go to—even if he doesn't exactly need the help. Pre-series, weechesters.
1. Chapter 1

"Oscar Wilde?"

The name sounded familiar across Dean's tongue as he repeated it, though he couldn't quite place it. It was a name that had come up a few years back, in eighth grade or so, but for what? Honestly, he couldn't remember. He first thought that maybe it could be a band member he idolized, but no self-respecting classic rock musician would be named "Oscar."

"Yeah," Sam affirmed, a small, beaten library book clutched in his hands. "We're supposed to write an essay on a lesson we learned from his book, but I'm really stuck." Sam looked at Dean imploringly.

"Wait… Ocsar Wilde… That gothic novel… _The Picture of Dorian Gray_ , right?" The scattered puzzle pieces fitted themselves together in his brain. He remembered reading the book four or so years ago, along with that particularly wonderful study session over the book in question. She was a hot blonde—Veronica or Veruca, something along the lines—and they had definitely made use of their time in the library. Together. Alone.

"Yup, you wanna scan through it real quick?" Sam asked, hazel eyes wide as he held out the proffered book.

Dean nodded, and quickly fluttered through the pages. Bits and pieces came back to him, and he remembered disliking the book a bit because it had a bad sense of justice to it. Every character had died in an untimely manner, except for the perpetuator of the whole novel's plot. However, it was overall one of his favorites that he read in high school. He remembered as a freshman secretly delving into the book and admiring the story in prose. Not as difficult to read as Shakespeare, yet not as easy to read as _The Lord of the Flies_ —god, Dean hated that book.

Dean chuckled softly, looking nostalgically at the book. He then glanced up to Sam, who was looking at him expectantly. "It ain't that hard, Sammy," he said, waving the small book at him. "Think: What led Dorian down the wrong path?"

Honestly, Dean had a feeling that Sam knew very well all the questions he was prompted with. He was a smart kid, and Dean wasn't. There was no way that Dean knew what Sam was supposed to do and Sam didn't. Dean had a feeling that Sam was just offering a distraction from the hunt he'd been on yesterday.

They hadn't saved the family. The single mom had moved into the dwelling place of a severely pissed-off poltergeist, and her three kids had gotten in the way as well as her. By the time John and Dean had salted and burned the ghost, it had been too late. They'd returned to the accursed house to find all four members of the small family gutted, their eyeballs torn out revoltingly. Dean had puked there on the premises, and then gotten drunk once they got home. He cried himself to sleep, though Dad had drilled it into his head for hours that they _couldn't save everyone_. Dean hated it, and would readily take the place of that family. No one that innocent should ever have to die. If it were up to him, no one would ever die.

Their gouged sockets and spilled intestines still haunted his mind, but somehow, with Sammy sitting here and asking him for help that he could actually give, it made most of the nightmarish visions dissipate. Sam was almost fifteen and too smart for his own good, so there was no way that he actually needed Dean's help on this petty English project. It was clearly a ploy to raise Dean's spirits and take his mind off of the dark phantasms that laid in the corners of his brain.

But Dean didn't call him out on his bluff. He needed this distraction, even if Sam didn't need the help. So they sat on John's vacant bed for over an hour, discussing what messages Wilde was trying to get across and why, until Sam had compiled a decent outline for his essay.

"Thanks, Dean," Sam said, a wide smile gracing his lean face. Dean nodded, allowing a small grin to cross his lips despite the pain he was still feeling inside. Sam always made him feel better. If he was fulfilling his duty of taking care of Sam, he was instantly gratified.

"No problem, kiddo." Sam scowled at the nickname, but the action seemed mocking. Dean knew that he secretly liked it.

The younger Winchester flounced, too-long hair flapping wildly, over to the mini table in their kitchenette to start writing his report. Dean watched him for a moment before turning back to the television program he'd been watching. _Star Trek_ was on, and Dean was never one to reject Captain Kirk when he took the screen.

He watched TV in peace while Sammy scribbled away until his eyes drifted downward. Still sitting by his leg was Sam's book, _The Picture of Dorian Gray_. He looked towards Sam again to make sure he was too engaged in his work to pay attention to him, then picked up the book and started at page one.

It had been forever since he'd read a good book. Picking up a classic like this made him go back to his high school years, when he'd actually given a crap. If the English teacher had set them on a good book, he'd play the "bad boy" role, but secretly be enthralled. He even remembered one of his sophomore English teachers coining the phrase "Reading is Sexy." After he'd dropped out, though, all books he'd previously enjoyed had been strewn from his life. It was nice to actually kick back and read for once.

He was halfway through the book when Sam finished his essay, but the latter didn't say a word, only smiled.

* * *

 **Just a small thing on Dean and books... I plan on making this a multi-chapter story expanding on Dean and his relationship with literature.**

 **Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it!**


	2. Chapter 2

Sam Winchester tried to keep his eyes reading the words of his book, _Sense and Sensibility_ , as to ignore the shouts coming from the other room. Ever since John had gotten home, he'd found every reason to knock Dean down. Sam suspected that he was a little drunk, because he pointed out the overflowing trash bin and yelled, "See, you can't even manage to take out the damn trash!" Sam hated the yelling, hated how Dad couldn't see how much Dean tried, but most of all, he hated how Dean never fought back. It was always "yessir" or "no sir." John yelled "Jump!" and got an ever-obedient "How high?" Sam hated Dean's blind loyalty to the man, even though he was clearly the world's worst father.

Sam jumped when there was a loud crash, then a slam, and then quiet. He looked towards the door of the adjoining bedroom to the main livings area. Had John done something? Hastily, Sam bookmarked his spot and jumped through the door.

Dean was just standing by the table, jaw clenched and unmoving. Sam saw the turmoil behind his eyes and the way his fists were clenched in too-tight balls. "Dean?" he asked placidly. "Are you all right? Did Dad do anything?"

Dean sighed, running a tense hand over his face. Once his face was uncovered again, that cocky grin was back into place. "Nah, he's just two sheets to the wind. I told him he needs to cool off. He's probably out set on banging some girl." Dean shrugged. "No big deal."

Sam dutifully studied Dean's face, but if there had been any hurt there, it was gone, covered by his skillfully-placed mask. "I heard him yelling," Sam pushed. "You know you didn't do anything wrong, right? You were just reading."

Dean cringed at that final word, and Sam knew he wasn't fine. The whole screaming fest had been set off by John returning home to see Dean transfixed by a book. He'd flipped, going on a tangent of how Dean needed to focus on hunting now that he was out of school and nothing else. John had told him a few days ago about a hunt in Topeka that they needed to take with orders to research it. Dean had done the research, but when John got home and saw Dean _not_ researching, he assumed his eldest was skipping out on duty. Books were petty, he said, and that if he ever caught Dean reading while he should be working, he'd disown him.

John was drunk, so he obviously didn't mean the harsh words. No way would he ever disown Dean. Ever. However, Dean had clearly taken it as a serious blow to his character.

"Reading's stupid," Dean muttered darkly. "Don't know why I was even doing it in the first place. I've gotta save all the books for my geek brother, yeah?"

Sam chewed on his lower lip, not liking Dean's new persona. "What were you reading?" he asked casually, expecting some low reading level action novel with pictures or, God forbid, a porno.

Dean shrugged listlessly once more. "Dunno, some post-wartime thing. Voggenut, I think his name is?"

Sam reeled at that. "You mean Vonnegut? Kurt Vonnegut?"

"Yeah, sure."

Sam smiled to himself without letting Dean see. Judging by his nonchalant appearance, Dean thought that reading Vonnegut was no big deal. However, Sam knew that it was heavy reading if you were to read it and understand it. He'd read _Slaughterhouse-Five_ last year, and still didn't get most of the imagery in it.

"Did you like it?"

Dean glared at Sam. "Drop it. It's just a dumb book." He sighed wearily, rolling his shoulders back. "Now, what do you want for dinner?"

* * *

So much for Dean thinking books were stupid and geeky. He took every opportunity he could to help Sam with his English homework, especially when it was something related to a well-known classic. He tried to act casual about it, but Sam knew what he was doing. If he was helping Sam with his homework, he could freely talk about books. He acted as if it were his duty as a big brother, but Sam saw the way his eyes lit up at the sight of Sam's tattered copy of _Cat's Cradle_ and how passionately he spoke about it.

"Never read it," he admitted, "though I'm sure it's good. If you're into geek stuff like that."

That's how Sam developed his own version of hide and seek.

A week before he was supposed to turn the book into the library, Sam "forgot" his book in Dean's toolbox that was sitting out by the Impala. Dean was inside getting a drink after tuning Baby up for an hour, so Sam casually dropped the book in there under a few tools where he knew Dean would find it. Then, all he had to do was wait.

Six days later, the book was returned to him. "Found it in my toolbox," Dean said as he gingerly proffered the book. He looked unwilling to part with it, though he eventually handed it to his brother. "You need to keep better track of your books, kiddo."

Sam muttered a "thanks," then started flipping through it. He smiled when he saw minuscule pencil marking that hadn't been there before. Dean had read it, obvious by the tattered dog-ears that Sam was certain he hadn't made. Dean had underlined phrases, jotted down notes in the margins, and starred some paragraphs. While Sam was appalled to the idea of ever writing in a book, he grinned as he read the thought-provoking words Dean had so-dutifully left.

In the weeks that followed, Sam kept "forgetting" his books everywhere try went. In the shower, in Dean's pillowcase, on top of the radio in the Impala. Each time, he always got them back, but it took a few days. When Dean returned the book, he would cajole Sam on his carelessness, but not seem particularly angry. Each time a book was returned, it looked more read than it had before and always bore the light pencil notes that signified Dean reading it.

But Dean won't read in public, lest he risk the anger of John. The only way Sam knows he's reading the books are by these tell-tale signs. He doesn't know when Dean finds the time to read them, because he doesn't even let Sam witness the feat.

John never saw Dean reading again. Sam wished that Dean would for once stick out his neck and do what he wanted to do instead of shrinking under John's ruling. But somehow, with just the assurance that Dean was reading, Sam didn't really mind.

* * *

 **I've decided that this will be a quick mini-series, since there was a good response. :)**

 **Thanks for reading, and let me know what you think!**


	3. Chapter 3

"Sam, you've got to be kidding me," Colby muttered darkly through clenched teeth.

Sam looked reproachingly at his friend, shaking his head. "Not at all. He's super smart, and—"

"Sam, he's reading _Busty Asian Beauties_! His type is the kind who beats up nerds like us! I know he's your brother, but I can't believe you expect me to believe that he's—"

"Just trust me," Sam insisted, rising from his seat at one of the many study tables in this library and heading towards the couch where Dean was lounging.

He and Colby were doing a collaborating assignment on analyzing the metaphors and symbolisms of Shakespeare's _King Lear_. They had to write a two-paged essay on what Shakespeare's message about humanity was, and how it was applicable today. Then, in addition, they had to write and perform a skit using old modern English as Shakespeare had based off of the play. And, man, this project sucked.

This was the only afternoon Colby was free, so they'd decided to meet up at the library to do the project together. But, if Sam came to the library, then so did Dean. He'd hoped that his older brother would be enthralled by the multitude of books surrounding him, but was appalled when he saw Dean bringing his whole collection of skin mags along with his Walkman loaded with some heavy metal tape. He would leave Sam alone to study, if Sam left him alone to his dirty fantasies. It was a win-win situation.

However, he and Colby needed help. No matter how many times they read a certain segment of the play, they could glean nothing of its meaning. So, Sam suggested asking Dean if he could shed some light on the situation.

They walked up to Dean and Colby grimaced. "He's listening to _Metallica_ , Sam," he whispered in distaste, as both boys could hear the music blasting at unsafe levels. "He won't be able to help."

"Give him a chance," Sam hissed, before tugging Dean's headphones off. Dean jumped, a near-feral look in his eyes as he reached instinctively for a gun in his waistband, but calmed down as he recognized the "threat" as Sam.

He paused the music player and said, "What is it, Sam?" He looked imploringly as if to ask if something _supernatural_ was going on, but Sam shook his head.

"We just, uh…" He found himself stuttering, unsure how to ask Dean to give up his naked women for Shakespeare. "We wanted to ask if you'd help with our homework."

Dean raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Homework on what?"

"Shakespeare." Sam held his breath in anticipation.

Dean pursed his lips momentarily, before nodding. "Sure thing. Just don't expect me to do the whole 'O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou, Romeo?'"

They'd studied _Romeo and Juliet_ a few weeks ago, so Sam smirked when Dean perfectly quoted the play. He saw Colby's jaw tighten as he came to the same realization. "We have to write an essay about _King Lear_ ," Sam said. "Then we get to write a short drama of our own based off of it."

Dean made a little "huh" sound, the rose from his seat. "All right, kids, let's see what I can do."

Sam mentally stuck out his tongue at Colby. He knew his big brother would be eager to help, especially since it involved books. No matter how much he tried to hide it, Sam knew he loved reading. Since last year, he'd been constantly bringing home books to hide around the motels for Dean to find and read. Dean had read almost all of them, excluding some young adult novel that Sam had been sucked into due to its "touchy-feely" vibe.

As they walked back to where Sam and Colby had been studying earlier, Sam noticed Dean's eyes flitting over to a stand filled with Stephen King books, before he instantly looked away. Sam made a mental note to pick up a few of those books before they went home; Dean had made Sam watch _Cujo_ , _Pet Sematary_ , _The Shining_ , and _Carrie_ last summer. All at night. While Sam knew about the real monsters and ghosts, horror movies never failed to freak him out. Maybe Dean would like to read some of King's books instead of merely watching the movies…

"So, Shakespeare," Dean said, taking a seat next to Sam and across from Colby. "They're still teaching that old man in schools, huh?"

Colby shifted in his seat. "Uh, yeah," he responded, clearly uncomfortable with his friend's brother.

Dean cracked his knuckles. "Wonderful," he murmured. "So _King Lear_ … That's the one with the screwy old guy who surrendered his kingdom to his two hot daughters, banished his not-so-hot daughter, then hell broke loose and all of them died?"

"Uh, it never specifically said if Goneril and Regan were… _hot_ …," Colby said.

"C'mon, man, I had to make English class interesting!" Dean exclaimed, a cocky grin painted on his face. "And by the way, the evil chicks are _always_ hot." He clicked his tongue in an appreciative manner. "Always…"

Sam cleared his throat before Dean could fall into a daydream about King Lear's daughters. "Dean," he said pointedly.

"Right." Dean grabbed the paper that listed Sam and Colby's assignment. "Let's get this thing started."

* * *

"He has to be a prodigy," Colby insisted once their homework was one-hundred percent completed, thanks to the help of Dean. "I mean, no way a guy like _him_ can be that _smart_."

Sam smiled. "He tries to hide it, but he really loves to read."

"But the way he made sense of it when even _we_ couldn't was amazing!" The excitement and admiration on Colby's face was hysterical, considering the boy's previous contempt for Dean and his "type."

"I told you so," Sam said in a sing-song voice.

Colby rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Can you bring him along whenever we need school help? I'll never get a B again with Dean Redford up my sleeve!"

Sam chuckled, knowing that they'd probably be moving two states over in a week or so. "We'll see," Sam said. "He's twenty-one, you know. He's got better things to do than help a couple kids with their homework."

"Well why's he not in college then? He could so be a Lit major."

"It's just never been his thing, I guess." Sam shrugged. "He'd much rather be a mechanic, I think. Like our dad."

Colby's eyebrows skyrocketed. "Really?"

"Yeah." It was all lies, obviously. Dad hadn't been a mechanic in seventeen years, and while Dean knew all about cars, hunting would always be his life.

On his way out of the library, Sam grabbed _Cujo_. Flipping through it, he saw f-bombs on nearly every page and graphic depictions of the demon-dog tearing people apart. His smile reached his eyes; Dean would enjoy it, especially after finding it in his duffel buried underneath his underwear.

* * *

 **This chapter's idea was sent by ArtistKurai, and I couldn't resist. Hope you liked it! :)**


	4. Chapter 4

Sam's dorm room looked as if a tornado had swept through it. His roommate, a total OCD freak, would go insane when he got back from his afternoon class, but Sam had a valid reason: he couldn't find his book for class.

He'd created the worst habit of leaving his books in the oddest of places since he'd started "hiding" his books for Dean to read. He must have left his _Great American Poets_ book somewhere, because he couldn't find it anywhere. If he'd left it somewhere else, it had his name and address in it, but he was fairly certain that he hadn't brought it anywhere but his dorm and his Literature class. However, now, with the whole room torn apart and everything is a disarray, he still couldn't spot it.

He was just about to fall into a panicked frenzy when he heard a firm knock on the thick dorm door. Sighing and running a frantic hand through his ever-growing hair, Sam opened the door to reveal a girl standing there. Her stature was small, at least compared to him, and her blond hair fell in waves over her petite frame. To put it bluntly, Sam thought that she was beautiful.

"Um, are you Sam Winchester?" she asked, voice firm yet timid at the same time.

"Yeah, that's me," Sam affirmed, sending her a short-clipped smile. While he was glad to have a pretty, female visitor, now was definitely not the time. However, he remained courteous. "And you are…?"

"Oh, Jessica Moore." She held out a thin hand and Sam took it in his, shaking it. She held out a book that had been tucked underneath her elbow. Sam's eyes widened when he saw that it was his Literature book. "I was in the library this morning and I saw it underneath on of the computers' keyboards… It had your address on it, so I decided to bring it back for you." She smiled at him warmly. "I'm in your Lit class, I know how much Mr. Jacobs can be a hard-nose. Though I don't quite understand how it got left under a keyboard in the library…?"

Her gray eyes were joking, so Sam allowed himself to chuckle. "Yeah, I guess I can be a little forgetful at times," he said. "Thanks, Jessica."

Jessica smiled again, this time showing her perfect, pearly-white teeth. "You can call me Jess, most of my friends do," she offered, and Sam nodded, appreciating Jess's forwardness. He'd only known her for minutes, and she already seemed like a personality he'd like to get to know better.

"Well then thank you, Jess." Sam self-consciously smoothed down his hair, which was surely in a disarray, as he realized she was scrutinizing him as he had earlier. Hopefully she was drawing some good conclusions. The last thing Sam wanted was to drive away someone nice because he was a freak. The good thing about Stanford, however, was that no one knew he was a freak yet. "Do you want to… I mean, you don't _have_ to… I was just wondering if you'd like to—"

"Walk to class together?" Jess's eyes brightened, if that was even possible, and she giggled. "Of course. No way _I'm_ walking into Mr. Jacobs' class late."

Sam nodded, checking his watch and realizing that they'd be at least ten minutes late at this point. "Neither am I."

* * *

Two months later, Sam and Jessica were dating.

Sixteen months later, they'd moved into an apartment together.

Sam had found a part-time job down at the campus coffee shop, and Jess was enrolled in a paid internship at the hospital about five miles down the road to assist her nursing degree. Between the two of them, they made enough to get by.

Life with Jess was a dream come true for Sam. He'd dreamed of a normal life since he'd found out about hunting, and now he had it. Both he and Jess cooked, they studied until ungodly hours together, and at the end of the day, they curled up together in bed. It was like a fantasy, and Sam relished in every moment of it. He loved Jessica so much, to the point where it was almost painful. He couldn't imagine losing her, which was why he kept his previous life hidden from her. She didn't need to know about all the crap that Sam had done. Currently, all she knew was that his mom had died when he was a baby and that he'd grown up on the road. Any details about his dad or Dean were never voiced, and Jessica never felt the need to ask. He'd met her family at Christmas last year, and he'd been so happy to spend time with his girlfriend's family. They were so _normal_. They oozed normalcy, and Sam drank it up. The only aspect of his past life that he'd kept was laying down salt lines at the windows and doors. Jess had questioned it at first, but now she didn't seem to mind. You could never be too safe.

Sam was reading a textbook at ten pm while Jess was taking a shower when she suddenly hollered, "Sam! Why is there a _book_ behind my _conditioner_?!"

Sam's cheeks flushed in embarrassment as he tried to recall which book he'd stuck back there.

"And why is it _Harry Potter_?!"

Sam groaned, face palming. He'd only been casually reading the book, since it was a raving series right now. "Sorry, Jess!" he called back.

"It got a little wet, learn to take better care of your books!"

Sam chuckled dryly, though inside his heart hurt; he remembered how Dean used to say that exact thing to him.

* * *

To say that Dean was depressed didn't even scratch the surface of it. Life with the utter feeling of abandonment and betrayal clawing at his soul made him want to die. Whenever he thought about Sam, it hit him like a dagger wound. The fact that Sam had simply walked out without so much as a goodbye or even a glance in Dean's direction hurt more than anything. Hurt more than his first breakup, hurt more than that werewolf that had almost clawed his guts out a few days ago.

Dad had been absolutely pissed after the hunt, saying that Dean's actions had been suicidal. Dean saw it more as wanting to die in a noble way. Every day spent without his brother was like hell on earth. Sure, he loved his dad, but sometimes Sam was the only one who kept him fighting. Now, without a brother to keep the darkness out of his mind, he was kind of sorry that the werewolf hadn't killed him.

The only other thing that he'd loved in life, reading, had disappeared along with Sam. They had fallen into a steady schedule over the years of Sam losing his books and Dean reading them. He secretly admired reading, but never found the chance to do it unless he and Sam's method worked. No one was allowed to see Dean read, except for Baby. Most nights after Sam fell asleep, he'd go out and sit in the car, reading by moonlight. He enjoyed analyzing the texts that he read, and never hesitated to make lightly-penciled notes. He had never been the best reader, not by a long shot, so marking things while reading always helped him understand the books.

However now, laying in bed with black stitches strewn across his stomach, Dean couldn't help but think about how he'd kill for a good book. He could probably find some lore book in Dad's duffel, but there was no way he could get up right now. His mind was hazy with pain medicine, though his stomach still hurt like hell.

Also, he didn't think he could take the psychological torture that came with reading; it reminded him too much of Sam.

Months passed, and slowly Dean found himself crawling out of his hole. He started talking a bit more, even though he really didn't want to, because what was the point of talking when there was no Sam? However, Dad kept pushing him to get past the whole "Stanford" thing, so he did. He hid the pain into the deepest crevices of his mind and shielded all emotions with a cocky grin.

It wasn't until he found a book underneath his pillow at some motel in Nebraska that his mask cracked. It reminded him of Sam, always sticking his books in the oddest of places. It was _The Catcher in the Rye_ , a classic that Dean had read on a few accounts before and enjoyed. So, shoving aside any pain that he felt, he read it.

* * *

 **Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! (it was fun writing Jess)**

 **I'd love to hear what you thought about it!**


	5. Chapter 5

Dean's eyes blinked slowly as he was once again rudely awoken by his brother's screams. A nightmare, _again_. He listened patiently as Sam evened out his breathing, murmuring to himself, "Just a dream, just a dream." Dean hated hearing his brother like this, but it had become a nightly occurrence since Jessica's death. He hurt for his brother, since nightmares and insomnia were supposed to be _Dean's_ thing, and Sam was barely getting four hours these days. When he heard Sam's movements finally still, he allowed himself to fall back to sleep, though he knew that his brother would still be awake.

Dean hated how the day already had a rough start. His heart was aching, both for Sam and for his mom. It was November 2nd, so he knew he'd be drinking himself into a stupor later today. Mary had been dead for exactly twenty-two years, and the reminder still hurt like an open wound. Sam didn't know, but Dean still dreamed of his mother's unfortunate passing. He remembered the heat, the screams, his baby brother being pressed into his arms with orders to "Take your brother outside as fast as you can, don't look back!" While Dean had nightmares about his mother, Sam had nightmares about his girlfriend who had die in an identical way.

In the morning, both brothers were silent. They both knew what day it was, though Sam knew the day affected Dean more. Sam had never known his mother, so it was hard to grieve her. Dean, however, had spent a full four years with her, and still held vivid memories of her blonde hair, her green eyes, and the soft lullaby of "Hey Jude" being sung to him whenever he had bad dreams. He could really use that right now.

"Beer?" Dean offered softly, holding out the drink to his brother while he nursed his own. He sat down next to Sam on the motel's poor excuse for a couch, not sitting too close, but not sitting too far away.

Sam raised an eyebrow. "For…breakfast?" he asked cautiously, voice equally soft as he took the drink anyway.

Dean shrugged. _Why the hell not?_ While he would normally opt for something much stronger, beer was all they had right now. It would suffice. "So, you gonna hang around the motel all day?" Dean said, breaking the silence.

"Why, are you?" Sam retaliated. When Dean didn't supply an adequate answer, he pressed, "Come on, Dean. You can't hole yourself up here all day."

Dean frowned. "You haven't forgotten what day it is, have you?" he questioned, his voice a mere husk of what it normally was. "What am I going to do, huh? Walk around and flaunt my misery?"

Sam cringed and said, "No, Dean, that's not what I meant, I just think getting drunk tonight might not be the best option…"

Dean wanted to get drunk. He didn't care what Sam said, but being two sheets to the wind really took the edge off of things. It was especially hard this year since he didn't have Dad to console him. Sam had grieved every year as well, but it had mainly been the two eldest Winchesters. Dad let him have his first beer at fourteen, and it had become a tradition after that. An ice-cold fear had been gripping Dean's heart as of late, and it was the primordial fear that his other surviving parent, his father, would leave him too. They were still searching for him, and Dean wasn't about to give up, but today, on the anniversary of Mom's death, Dean felt the abandonment like an eternal pang in his heart. Sure, he had Sam, but it wasn't the _same_.

A lump was rising in Dean's throat, and he swallowed it down with little ease. "I heard you wake up from a nightmare again last night, Sam," Dean said. "You were screaming her name in your sleep. So don't act like you aren't in pain too."

"I'm not, Dean!" Sam defended, setting his drink down as he looked his brother in the eye. His expression held extreme anguish. "Look, I'm not all right. I'm really not. But I don't think that washing away our sorrows with alcohol will solve much!"

"Whatever," Dean grunted, suddenly annoyed by this conversation. He placed his bottle down on the table next to Sam's with a little too much force. He donned his leather jacket and jingled his keys. "I'm going out. Don't wait up."

He slammed the door in his brother's face, then immediately his facade broke. He was depressed, worried as hell, and now, apparently, angry as well. The overwhelming torrent of emotions made him want to cry, to let it all flow, but he didn't let his feelings overtake him. He shoved them down where they couldn't hurt him and got into the Impala.

He didn't know where he was driving, but he didn't care. Simply the presence of his car calmed him. It was only when he made a fast, sharp turn that something heavy slammed into his side that he stopped, if only to see what had hit him.

It was _Les Miserables_ , the full book. Dean stared at it, unsure of what to think. Sam had probably left it there on accident, as they haven't played their little "game" since he'd rejoined Dean. Though what he was doing with _Les Mis_ was beyond Dean's understanding. Gingerly, he opened the cover. Immediately he wanted to vomit.

There, written on the title page in stiff handwriting, was a note: _Know you said you've always wanted to read this, babe. Love you so much, Merry Christmas, Sam_.

He must have been planning on giving this to Jess for Christmas this year. Dean didn't know when Sam had gone back into their apartment to retrieve it, but he had obviously deemed it worthy to come with them. It must hurt him to look at it, which is why he'd left it in the car.

 _Dean_ had always wanted to read _Les Mis_ , but it seemed like too large of a commitment. Now, though…

That's how, on the anniversary of his mom's death, Dean Winchester found himself in his car reading one of the greatest books of all time. He didn't return to the motel until late at night, and when he did, he muttered an apology to Sam and got himself a cold one. He could resume the book tomorrow, but he wouldn't tell Sam about it.

* * *

 **Well, after writing this, I realized that on November 2nd of 2005, Sam would be on the woman in white hunt with Dean and Jessica wouldn't have died yet... Oops, let's just pretend she's died already.**

 **Please feel free to leave a review! I love hearing what you think!**


	6. Chapter 6

Dean clearly thought of the Bunker as the home he hadn't had since he was four years old. Sam can understand that, sort of. A life of normalcy was something Dean had had for four whole years before it was stripped away from him, so it's natural for him to secretly crave some sort of home. Sam had been the one during his adolescent years wishing to be normal and to have a normal life, but somehow he's grown out of that. He knows he can't be normal, and that hunting will always be his life. He was taught that when his life with Amelia had disbanded.

But Dean's been cooking, wearing bath robes, and drinking tea. He's nesting, enjoying the feeling of having a permanent home that won't fly away from him. It's going to stay here forever, become the Winchesters' residence. Hell, Sam's surprised Dean hasn't set up a welcome mat yet with the amount of domesticity that's running rampant through his veins.

One day when Dean's on a food run, Sam takes a peek inside his brother's room. It tells him all he needs to know, that Dean is taking the opportunity of having his own room as a revered gift from above. His favorite LP's are on his bedside tables, alongside a picture of him and Mom. Sam's heart clenches, at the sight, but he moves on. He marvels at the sight of some of Dean's iconic weapons mounted upon the walls, as it obviously took him a long time to set those up perfectly. Sam smiles. This place screams _Dean_ , and Sam knows what he has to do next.

The Men of Letters library holds the greatest collection of supernatural-themed books in the world. Sam has been through the archives by now, taking note of most of the books that are here. Upon his doing so, he found that not only does this place have books on anything you'd want to research, it has actual novels. Like, all of Shakespeare's plays and any classic you can think of, including L. Frank Baum, Arthur Conan Doyle, Bram Stoker, Mary Shelley, and Jules Verne. Sam's read all of those authors, but he's pretty sure that Dean hasn't. So, grinning to himself, he puts the books where they belong: inside Dean's bedroom.

He knows Dean sees them, since they'd been placed in the most visible spot in his brother's room. Sam catches Dean's eye once the older man descends from his bedroom, his brother giving him a slight look, but otherwise never bringing the novels up.

Until Sam receives Shakespeare's _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ on his bed a few days later, a post-it note tacked to the cover reading "Nice try, but I'm not gay."

Sam laughs, and tucks the novel underneath his pillow, adding it to his list of books to read. A few nights after the book is returned to him, Sam pulls out the soft paperback and begins to thumb through it, idly wondering if he had lore books to be reading instead of friggen Shakespeare. Shrugging nonchalantly, Sam begins reading it, reminiscing on his junior high years in which he was first introduced to the famous poet. The plot is refreshed as he reads ten pages, twenty, thirty. Then, he spots some familiar pencil markings.

Dean _had_ read this book.

Sam carefully eyes the notes, spotting his brother's familiar scrawl as he underlined passages and annotated them, speaking his mind on what he though Shakespeare was speaking about humanity in those passages. Sam gapes, a smile lacing his lips. He hasn't seen Dean become this absorbed in a book since…well, a _long_ time.

That's how, on an alleged "beer run," Sam finds himself scouring the local thrift shop for something specific: the complete works of Shakespeare. As much as Dean acts like he doesn't care, Sam knows how much he really does. Shakespeare had always been a secret pleasure of his older brother's. So, snatching up the collection of books as quickly as he can and paying no more than fifteen bucks for all of them, Sam heads back to the Bunker.

On Dean's thirty-second birthday, Sam wraps the books, and a separate gift is the usual skin mags and season three of Game of Thrones.

Dean has never loved his birthday, but the way his eyes light up when Sam presents him with not one, but two gifts makes Sam know all the trouble was worth it.

Dean opens the larger parcel, nose crinkling when he saw the cursive print of _Romeo and Juliet_. "Shakespeare, Sam?" he grumbles distastefully, though Sam sees the playful gleam in his eyes. "Seriously?"

"Saw how much you liked _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ when you threw it back in my room," Sam replies cheekily with a grin. "Those are just gags, Dean. Now open the others."

Dean clicks his tongue in approval at the latest issues of _Busty Asian Beauties_ , smiling widely at his new DVD. "Whaddaya say we binge watch this whole thing tonight?" Dean asks.

"As long as you promise to keep the porn away, dude."

Dean rolls his eyes in exaggeration. "We'll see, little bro. Gotta remember, it's _my_ birthday."

Later that night, about halfway through episode five, Sam notices the collected works of Shakespeare gathered on Dean's bedside table, new dog ears already decorating one of the titles. Sam smiles warmly, taking another drag of his beer and taking a sidelong glance towards his brother. For the first time in a long time, he looks happy.

* * *

 **Well I think this concludes this little fic! I'd be happy to add more if anyone has a suggestion, but this is as far as I had planned.**

 **Thank you all for your support, and please take a moment to leave a review!**


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